Truly, Madly, Deeply
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: Beach Head hates Falcon. Hates him with all of his might. That's his story, and he's sticking to it. Beach Head/Falcon.


Gung-Ho first saw the kid just outside of the rec room at Joe base. He was going to meet Mainframe to keep their weekly pool game, and the kid was walking down the hall in the opposite direction. The kid offered him a polite nod and smile when they passed each other, while Gung-Ho struggled to keep his incredulity from his face. Not only was this kid dressed in some clubwear outfit of mostly leather and fishnet outfit, but he looked borderline underage.

"Either someone needs to tell their son to put on some goddamn clothes, or someone needs to start checking their hookers' IDs and also stop bringing them back to Joe base," Gung-Ho announced as he entered the rec room.

"I see you've met Falcon," Outback remarked. "God knows I wish his parents would swing by and tell him to put on some clothes. He's a good-looking kid, and I don't mind admiring the view, but those skanky outfits of his make me feel like a dirty old man."

Dusty gave a lovelorn sigh. "Falcon sure is gorgeous, isn't he? That sleek black hair, slim hips, clear skin, emerald eyes, kissable lips—"

"Can it, Romeo," Leatherneck snarled. "Not all of us are so thrilled about Falcon becoming a Joe."

"That kid's a Joe? You're not fooling?" Gung-Ho's eyebrows shot up. "How in the world did that happen?"

Mainframe shrugged. "Most of Falcon's file is classified, and none of us can access it. Best that we could find is that the Jugglers ordered Hawk to take him onto the team from some other military agency. He completed six months of training with Sergeant Slaughter and the Renegades before going to Beach Head's boot camp with the other Rawhides, where he beat a bunch of Duke's old records."

Leatherneck groaned. "Whatever you do, don't let Beach Head hear you talking about Falcon, or he'll rant and rave for twenty straight minutes about how it's an outrage that Falcon is on the team. Even I hate listening to it, and I think Falcon is way too young to be a Joe!"

"Well, we all think Falcon is too young to be a Joe, don't we?" Deep Six asked from where he was completing _The New York Times_ crossword puzzle. "But most of us accept his membership as a one-off oddity and are neutral to positive on Falcon as a person. Only Beach Head seems personally insulted by Falcon's inclusion on the Joe team."

"Falcon?!" A gruff voice with a thick Southern accent rang out from the hallway, and everyone in the rec room sighed as Beach Head barged into the rec room.

"Let me tell you a thing a thing or two about Falcon," Beach Head began heatedly, ignoring the chorus of pleas for him to stop. "That boy is a lying, low-down, dirty cheat! I wasn't able to prove it, but at boot camp, he conned his way through breaking every one of those all-time training records!"

"I swear, it's like he has some sort of telepathic Falcon-sense and instantly knows when he becomes the topic of conversation." Leatherneck rolled his eyes.

"How could he cheat, though?" Outback wondered. "Sure, he could take a shortcut during the morning runs, but he couldn't fake the practical exercises, like the obstacle course or sparring. I think you might just have to admit that the kid is more talented than you give him credit for."

Rounding on Outback, Beach Head went off on another diatribe, and Gung-Ho and Mainframe turned back to their pool game. Gung-Ho still another had another question.

* * *

"So, is there a reason that Falcon dresses like a stripper?" Rock 'n Roll unknowingly repeated Gung-Ho's very question the next day as he sat sat down in the mess hall. "I mean, the kid does a good job of pulling it off, but I swear every outfit he wears makes him look like a bonafide call boy."

Flint sighed as he placed his tray down on the table. "Ostensibly, it's because Falcon gets sent on a lot of undercover ops where he poses as a sex worker, but mostly I think it's to provoke Duke."

"Why would Duke care?" Rock n' Roll asked curiously.

"You didn't know?" Roadblock joined the two of them at the table, Lady Jaye, Lifeline, and Maverick not far behind. "Falcon is Duke's younger brother."

"Really?" Rock 'n Roll glanced over at Falcon, who was leaving the mess. "Wow. Did not know that."

"Duke insists on treating that kid like he's twelve instead of eighteen," Maverick chimed in. "Let the kid live his life, I say." He grinned, leaning back to get a better view of Falcon as he walked away. "And let us reap the benefits of it. Yow!"

Lifeline frowned. "I don't know. I've got a couple of younger brothers and sisters who are either in college or their late teens, and I wouldn't want any of them dressing like Falcon. Not that Falcon is wrong for wearing what he does," he added quickly. "It's just that his clothes are very . . . distinct."

"Someone ought to tell him he shouldn't wear those clothes when he goes downtown," Roadblock said, his tone concerned. "He might end up getting the wrong kind of attention."

The closest town to the Pit was college central, with one huge state school just off the square and various smaller private universities scattered nearby. Most of the Joes enjoyed the location, as it meant an active nightlife and a constant stream of new clubs, bars, and cafes. But a few (namely Beach Head) found the hordes of frat boys and sorority girls to be an endless nuisance.

"He already does, and he loves it." Flint rolled his eyes. "I don't know how many times Duke has had to drag him away from this one frat house, Beta Kappa Si, or something like that. I always hear them arguing about it when I walk past Duke's office."

"Honestly, he probably likes it there because he gets to hang out with people his own age," Lifeline opined. "And he does it during leave, so it's not like he's neglecting his duty."

"I think he does it because he lacks self-esteem, and needs to bolster his self-confidence," Lady Jaye said frankly. She turned to Flint. "Honey, you should talk to him. Let him know that he doesn't have to dress like a red light Amsterdam rent boy or get on his back for every frat guy in town in to get respect."

"What makes you think he'll listen to me?" Flint protested. "Duke tells him the same thing, and Falcon barely cares!"

"Falcon?!" A voice rang out, and Beach Head seemingly materialized beside their table. "That lousy excuse for a soldier! I can't believe he ever made it as a Joe! If I ever meet one of those Jugglers face to face, I'm going to knock his teeth down his throat just for forcing us to let Falcon in!"

Roadblock sighed. "Fantastic. Just what I wanted to hear during my lunch: Beach Head bitching."

"Couldn't have been that lousy if he beat every one of the all-time boot camp records," Lady Jaye reminded Beach Head, who sputtered indignantly in response.

"Just because that degenerate was able to fool you numbskulls into thinking—"

"Yeah, I've been wondering about that." Rock 'n Roll ignored the start of Beach Head's next rant. "So Duke set most of those records, and now Falcon's gone broken every last one. Does that mean . . ."

* * *

". . . Duke and Falcon have some sort of sibling rivalry?" Ace asked Bombstrike as they walked away from their Sky Strikers. "I mean, you were in boot camp with Falcon, so I figured you might know."

Bombstrike shook her head. "I don't think so. Falcon never even mentioned he had a brother, so I don't think he knew whose records he was breaking. It was strange, because I told them about Barrel Roll—I mean, Dwight is the reason I was inspired to become a Joe. But Falcon seemed totally clueless as to who Duke was until they first saw each other at the Pit."

"I wasn't there, but I heard about that," Ace said. "Airborne told me that apparently Falcon had no idea Duke was a Joe, and that they got into a huge argument." That part wasn't unusual; most Joes kept knowledge of their positions a secret from their families in order to protect them. "But I guess Duke thought Falcon was dead? I wonder how the hell that happened?"

Bombstrike shrugged. "From what I've heard around the base, I guess whatever military agency Falcon was with before faked his death for him. I will say, though, much as I like Falcon? I think he's being selfish right now. As far as I know, their parents still don't know he's alive. I understand that with whatever group he was a part of, he likely wasn't allowed to tell his family he was still here. But now he can, and he hasn't. Falcon's wrong to do that, in my opinion."

"Falcon?!" Beach Head's voice echoed through the aircraft hangar, to the great dismay of both Bombstrike and Ace. "That reckless son of a gun? He shouldn't be with the Joes! If I've told Hawk once, I've told him a dozen times—"

"I'm sure you have," Ace muttered.

Beach Head glared at him. "What was that, soldier?"

"We were talking about the type of bird that's a falcon," Bombstrike interjected, hoping to save both them from a lecture and also avoid a laborious punishment for Ace's sass. "We were going to bird-watching in just a few minutes, and we were hoping to see one."

"Oh." Beach Head deflated in disappointment.

"See ya, Sarge," Ace said over his shoulder as they hurried away. "Way to think on your feet," he congratulated Bombstrike once they were a safe distance away.

"Anytime." Bombstrike smiled.

Ace rubbed his chin. "I've heard this other rumor about Falcon, too. I don't want to be crass, but is it true that—"

* * *

"—he'll bang anyone who looks at him twice?" Footloose finished for Lift-Ticket. They were in the bay of the Motor Pool, "momentarily" taking a break from their duties for a game of poker. "Yes. A definitive yes. I'm Falcon's roommate, and let me tell you: his bed was broken into pieces within a week of the kid arriving. And that kid gets bruised up on a regular basis, so you can bet he likes it rough. Thank God I'm on night duty and I don't have to witness any of that."

"I figured. With those outfits he wears, he makes it pretty clear he wants to get on with whoever happens to be around." Lift-Ticket shuffled the cards.

"He looks good in those outfits, though," Cross-Country said eagerly. "I wouldn't mind—"

"—sexing him up?" Crankcase snorted. "Neither would half the base. But Duke would gorily murder anyone who tried. Do you know how many times he's gone down to the college and dragged Falcon out of that one frat house?"

Cross-Country huffed. "I was going to say that I wouldn't mind dating him. I'm not some animal who only wants mindless sex and nothing else."

Crankcase shrugged. "You could ask Falcon to marry you, but Duke would still call in for your execution by firing squad."

Footloose leaned forward conspiratorially. "The other night, Falcon was at a bar and had just gotten himself picked up for a threesome by some hot young grad students when Duke walked in. He told them both to get lost—well, that's putting it politely, he practically tore their heads off—and then dragged Falcon away."

"The eternally overprotective big brother." Crankcase snorted. "How does that quote go? Oh, yeah—'The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.' If Duke wants to get along with Falcon, he better let the kid make his own choices, particularly about who he sleeps with."

"Yeah, I agree," Cross-Country said hopefully.

Crankcase rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."

The doors to the Motor Pool bay doors swung open, and Beach Head blew in like a whirlwind. "What's this? Playing poker while on duty? Why, I oughta—"

"We were just talking about Falcon," Footloose said quickly.

"Falcon?!" Beach Head swelled up like a bullfrog. "Why the Jugglers wanted him in the Joes is anyone's guess! Hawk ought to throw that whippersnapper out on his his ear!"

"Actually, Hawk was telling me just the other day that he really liked Falcon and wanted to promote him ASAP," Crankcase lied.

"No way in hell!" Beach Head vowed, and was off like a shot, presumably in the direction of Hawk's office.

"Good saves," Cross-Country said admiringly to Footloose and Crankcase.

"So, then, Falcon's outfits, his promiscuity, and the aggressive sex he likes," Lift-Ticket began. "Does anyone else think it's all because he's trying to rebel against Duke? He broke all of his old boot camp records, after all."

* * *

"Do you think it's because he's trying to rebel against me?" Duke asked despairingly. "I can't think of what else it would be."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not that," Scarlett said, trying to discreetly glance at her watch. They had dinner reservations in an hour, but she hadn't managed yet to extract Duke from his office. After yet another argument where Duke had ordered Falcon to tell their parents he was alive and Falcon had again refused, Duke was moping and flipping through old family photos.

Duke cradled his head in his hands. "I know none of this has been easy for Vince. The agency took him away when he was sixteen. They separated him from our family. I just don't understand why he still refuses to contact our parents now, when he has the chance and the freedom."

"That agency—" Scarlett started.

"Is classified," Duke interrupted her. "Sorry, Shana. I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm just at a loss about what to do with Vince. His work as a Joe is excellent, but his personal life is a mess! I can't even count how many times I've had to extract him from that goddamn frat house. He probably spends more time there than all of their pledges combined!"

"He's so much younger than all of the other Joes, though," Scarlett pointed out reflexively. "This latest batch of recruits is younger than most, but even they have at least four years on him. He probably wants some friends his own age. And you've got to remember, he never got to go to college himself." Brightening, she found a way to remind Duke of their dinner date. "Speaking of remembering, our reservation—"

"I remember when we kids and I was his hero," Duke said forlornly, gazing at a childhood photo of himself and his younger brother. "There was always the age difference—I'm more than ten years older than him, you know—but I never minded taking care of Vince when I was growing up. And when I won the all-state football championship in high school, Vince would tell anyone who listened that he wanted to be just like me when he was older." He smiled sadly. "The best summer of my life when a couple of years ago, when Vince was fourteen and I was sent home to rest while recovering from injuries. My parents were travelling most of the summer for their careers, so it worked out great that I could be there. Vince and I hadn't spent much time together for years at that point, and that's when we really got to know each other again." Duke sighed. "I just wish I knew what was going on with him now."

All thoughts of dinner flew out of Scarlett's mind as she went to comfort her despondent boyfriend.

"Duke, I'm sure it's not because of anything you or your family did," she said consolingly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Falcon has gone through some major changes in the past couple of years, and I'll bet his head is still reeling. He probably just needs time to adjust. Whatever you do, don't give up on him. That's the best way you can help Falcon."

"Falcon?!" A familiar voice exclaimed, and Beach Head crashed into Duke's office. "That young heathen—"

"GET OUT!" Scarlett and Duke snarled at him. The Ranger took one look at their furious expressions and immediately complied.

* * *

After finishing his evening run, Beach Head ate a late meal at the mess hall and then returned to his private quarters to take a long, hot shower. One of the bonuses of being in command was that he no longer was expected to share a room.

Once he toweled himself off, he donned a pair of classic navy blue pajamas. As he was finishing with the buttons, Falcon entered the room, smirking when he saw them.

"Well, well, well," he said, sauntering forward to rub Beach Head's shoulders. "I can only hope that if you're ready for bed this early, it means we're going to be spending a lot of time _in bed_ tonight." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Do you?" Beach Head growled, tackling Falcon to the bed so that he was on top and Falcon was splayed beneath him.

Falcon grinned at him, reaching up and running his hands through Beach Head's reddish brown hair.. "Yes. This is where I want to be."

"Hmm." Beach Head gently traced a finger down Falcon jaw before rolling off of him, allowing him to sit up. "We've got to discuss something first. I heard Duke and Scarlett talking today. Duke was real upset about you not telling your folks that you're alive."

Falcon's expression grew serious. "I can't tell them. Their lives could be in danger if they knew. They're better off thinking that I'm dead."

"Don't think Duke sees it that way, and neither would they," Beach Head replied.

Falcon sighed. "I'm doing it to protect them. It's the same reason we can't let anyone know we're together and you have to pretend that you hate me. There would be trouble for you if it was discovered we were involved, just like there would be trouble for my parents if they knew I was alive."

"You can't keep all of these secrets forever, Vince," Beach Head warned him. "I already don't like how it's affecting you. I'm worried about you." He gently stroked Falcon's sleek black hair.

"I don't like it, but I don't have any choice," Falcon said, an edge of desperation in his voice. "Let's forget about all of this, Wayne, just for tonight. Please, make me forget."

"Okay," Beach Head whispered to him, and drew Falcon closer, bringing him into a deep kiss.

* * *

 **A/N:** This is just a rough sketch of a number of ideas I wanted to try out. I'm going to try to put up a more formal story soon. Let me know which ideas you liked and want to see more of.


End file.
